Backlash
by Kaetian
Summary: Harry is interested in a type of magic called backlash, and in a potions accident goes back to the marauders' time. WARNING:slash. HP/SS


Backlash.  
Summary: Harry is interested in a type of magic called backlash, and in  
a potions accident is taken back to the marauders' time. WARNING : slash,  
ss/HP.  
Be gentle, no one has beta read this! Please review.  
Damn, missed the train again! he growled to himself, looking at the empty train tracks in  
something approaching despair. He knew it was stupid to feel despair simply because he had missed the  
train, but there you go. He was feeling very simple, either.   
Afterall, it had been a pretty shitty summer, what with his relatives, and the fact that he couldn't  
control his powers any more . . .   
He got out his owl, some parchment, and a quill, and began to write.  
  
Dear Professor Dumbledore,  
I'm terribly sorry, but I appear to have missed the train. Due to the fact   
that this occurred in second year as well, and the arriving at Hogwarts   
did not go to well, I'm owling you as Professor McGonagall told me I  
should. So, I'll just be waiting on the platform.   
Sincerely, Harry Potter.  
  
He folded up the letter, tied it to Hedwig's leg, and off she went. He sat down, pulled out a  
book about backlash, and began to read. Two hours later, he began to worry that something had  
happend to Hedwig. What if she didn't get to Professor Dumbledore? What if the platform couldn't be  
opened? What then?   
He had been waiting for approximatly four hours when he went to check if the barrier worked.  
After repeatedly trying to push himself through the unyeilding stone, he sat down again in defeat. He  
picked up his book once more, and had been reading for ten minutes when the idea that he should  
lighten, then levitate his trunk and fly to Hogwarts under his invisibility cloak danced naked in front of  
him wearing Dobby's tea-cosy.   
He jumped up, did what the idea bid him, and flew to Hogwarts, following the train tracks. It  
was very scenic, and rather pretty, though he would never say so. When he finally reached Hogwarts,  
after falling off his broom numerous times since he hadn't used it for over a year, he flew to the Great  
Hall. Then, using his broom as a crutch (somehow he had broken an ankle), he entered the Hall.  
*  
At his entrance, the noise of the Hall swelled to a dull roar. It anoyed the hell out of Harry. He  
hated it when people talked to much about something that couldn't be helped.  
'Ah, mister Potter,' said Professor Dumbldore, a twinkle in his eye, 'Come sit down and have  
something to eat.'  
Harry asked, 'Did you get my letter?'   
'Yes, we got your letter. But we thought you could handle it, as you have can be rather  
cunning. And, see, you got here. Now, sit down and have something to eat.' Harry smiled at him, and sat  
down next to Ron and 'Mione. They began talking softly, unaware that Severus was watching them. he  
knew what would happen in their first potions lesson, although he wouldn't try to change it. Time can be  
a fickle thing to play with.   
*  
The next morning, Harry felt a peculiar sense of foreboding about his Potions lesson. He shook  
it off. He always dreaded Potions. It was an occupational hazzard. He woke up Ron, and together they  
made their way down to the Common Room, where Hermione was waiting. Then the Trinity made their  
way to the Great Hall for breakfast.   
Ah, Doctor Death, you poor sod , thought Snape, watching them. You haven't a clue what is  
to come.   
*  
  
'What are you waiting for, get on with it!' Severus snapped at the students. Students. Hah!  
More like demonic manifestations, then students, he thought sourly.   
'We are making the Eversourus potion, used for making use of backlash. Well? Take notes!'   
'Is it just me, or is Snape in an even worse mood then usual?' muttered Ron to Hermione. She  
nodded, indicating that if Snape was in such a bad mood, they probably shouldn't be talking. He nodded  
back, and then Severus bagan to announce pairs.   
'Granger, Longbottom. Weasley, Parkinson. Potter, Malfoy. . . ' he droned on. The trio had  
heard enough. Harry groaned quietly, then made his way over to Malfoy. The lesson was pure hell.  
Malfoy kept bumping him when he was cutting a root, or something. And then, when they were just  
about finished, Malfoy added cream of mandrake, and all the Slytherins ushered the rest of the class to  
the far side of the room. Harry was just about to follow them when the potion exploded, drenching him  
from head to toe in a black, gooey substance - which he then absorbed. He opened his mouth to call out,  
before he vanished into thin air.   
'Harry!' Hermione shrieked, and ran over to where the remaining patch of ooze was. 'Malfoy,  
you bastard, you've killed him!'   
'Oh, well. Such is life,' Draco shrugged, nonchalently.   
'He's not dead, miss Granger,' said Severus stiffly.  
'H -he's not?' she looked up at him, concern, worry and sadness etched in her hazel eyes.   
'He's not. He has merely gone back in time, oh, about twenty-five to thirty years ago,' he said,  
faintly reassuring. 'Class dismissed. Malfoy, detention and fifty points off. Homework - essay on  
timetravelling potions, three rolls long, due tomorrow.' And with that 


End file.
